<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>the one that got away by Ponderosa (ponderosa121)</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26783707">the one that got away</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/ponderosa121/pseuds/Ponderosa'>Ponderosa (ponderosa121)</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Umbrella Academy (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Anal Sex, Background Relationships, Body Dysphoria, Canon Rewrite, Kink Meme, M/M, Other, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Topping from the Bottom</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 05:28:46</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,592</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26783707</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/ponderosa121/pseuds/Ponderosa</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“How much of my file did you read, exactly.”</p><p>“You were one of my top agents, Number Five,” Carmichael says. He adopts a more casual pose, hands sliding into the pockets of his slacks as if to draw attention to his lean, bipedal frame. He drifts closer to the glass. “Suffice to say, all of it.”</p><p>[written for a prompt on the kinkmeme wherein Carmichael successfully makes a trade for his life in Wisconsin]</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>AJ Carmichael/Number Five | The Boy (Umbrella Academy)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>81</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>the one that got away</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Thanks and blame go to Blue Soaring, who not only picked OP's prompt out of a list of things I was eyeballing on the kinkmeme, but also gave invaluable advice along the way and put a bit of shine on this. Any and all fish-related puns are for her benefit.</p><p>Background pairing = heavy mentions of Five/Dolores.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Surely we can come to some form of agreement that benefits both parties. If not money, then— then your family’s safety, perhaps.”</p><p>Five adjusts his grip on the cricket bat. “I’m listening.”</p><p>“By your calendar it’s been, what, two weeks since you’ve left our employ on this quest to avert the apocalypse?”</p><p>“Not liking what I’m hearing,” Five warns.</p><p>“A delay on world ending events in the year 2019, and— and....” Carmichael’s mouth moves soundlessly as he searches for something else to dangle in front of Five like a carrot. “...a nice <em>private massage</em> before you depart 1982? You did make good use of the Personal Benefits Package in your time with us, as I recall.”</p><p>Of course the Commission had an invisible asterisk on <em>strictly confidential</em> when it came to company benefits. “I love my wife.”</p><p>“I never said you didn’t. If not an outside contractor, may I suggest a more immediately available option?”</p><p>Five narrows his eyes. Taking out a room full of executives did have the side effect of getting the old motor going. With the apocalypse on pause, he wouldn’t need to hasten back to 1963, and conventions in any timeline are a decent draw for sex workers.</p><p>“I’m not letting you out of my sight until I see those orders sent,” Five says.</p><p>Carmichael’s blinks, one eye before the other. He waves a fin and his body straightens, fingers sliding along the lapels of his suit jacket to set it to rights. “What I’m proposing would ensure that.”</p><p>Five stares. Carmichael bubbles apprehensively.</p><p>“How much of my file did you read, exactly.”</p><p>“You were one of my top agents, Number Five,” Carmichael says. He adopts a more casual pose, hands sliding into the pockets of his slacks as if to draw attention to his lean, bipedal frame. He drifts closer to the glass. “Suffice to say, all of it.”</p><p>Five’s sexuality is extremely, radically flexible. A particularly well-formed radish is fair game, and Dolores <em>was</em> a bit of a swinger back in her late twenties. But whether or not his proclivities are due to spending one’s formative years with very limited choices for partners, or simply the same sort of moral ambiguity and creative problem-solving that made him a prime candidate for the Commission in the first place, it’s impossible to say.</p><p>On top of the very good chance he’ll get railed to within an inch of his life—<em>not</em> to be taken literally, and with the Commission it’s best to specify—before going back to the collective headache that is his siblings, the offer holds additional appeal. Favors owed and tucked away for later are immensely useful, and trusting the Handler of all people to keep up her end of the bargain had been a risky prospect from the start. This arrangement might be dramatically less so.</p><p>Five swings the bat up to rest on his shoulder and circles Carmichael slowly. Carmichael’s body remains unmoving even as he pivots in his bowl, never taking an eye off Five. His delicate tail betrays his apprehension, a stiffness to it that leaves fitful currents in the water as they stare one another down.</p><p>“Penthouse suite with a jacuzzi tub, a steak dinner after, and you bring my family to me here in 1982,” Five demands.</p><p>“This isn’t the Four Seasons. A lakeview room with a jacuzzi tub, a coupon for the hotel restaurant, and you return with me to Headquarters where your family will be collected for rendezvous,” Carmichael counters.</p><p>Five stops his circling and points the end of the bat square in Carmichael’s face. He peers down the length of the scarred wood and narrows his eyes. “Magic Fingers bed <em>and</em> a jacuzzi tub with the view of the lake, room service from the hotel restaurant, and you give me an unlocked briefcase so I can do the collecting myself.”</p><p>Fat bubbles rise as Carmichael lifts a hand to push the bat away from his glass. He counters with, “A pre-programmed briefcase with a set number of uses,” in a tone that hints it will be his final offer.</p><p>Clenching his jaw, Five takes a half step back as he thinks it over. It’s a solid deal, but... “Commission technicians can supervise, but <em>I</em> do the programming.”</p><p>The silence stretches, filled only by the steady drip of blood from the ceiling in the conference room and the tick of a wall clock. After a few heartbeats, Carmichael thrusts out a fin and the corresponding hand. “You’ve got yourself a deal, Number Five.”</p><p>Five wouldn’t trust most executives with a used handkerchief, but AJ Carmichael was a bit of a stickler for the rules and Five guesses he won’t renege, especially when doing so would put him at the top of Five’s shitlist. He shakes to seal the deal and tosses the bat aside as he marches Carmichael back into the carnage-laden conference room. He watches closely as Carmichael pens orders calling for cleanup, a hit on the Handler, and an immediate intervention on the 2019 apocalypse.</p><p>The instant the message tube is whisked away into the timestream, Carmichael turns from the wall. “A room will be awaiting us any moment now,” he says, motioning politely towards the exit.</p><p>The cleanup crew pops in as they’re leaving and Five hears his name amongst the whispers as the group surveys the scene. The rumor mill in the Commission break room was going to be on overdrive. Needs must, he thinks as they navigate the hotel hallways.</p><p>Not, he supposes, that this is a must by any stretch. It is the first bit of R&amp;R he’s had in the last few weeks, though, and Dolores is always telling him to stop ignoring his needs when she’s not there to make sure he takes care of himself. </p><p>On the far side of the building and up the musty box masquerading as an elevator, the promised lakeview room proves to be acceptable enough. It’s far nicer than what the Commission normally books for field agents in any case. Five checks the bathroom, glances under the bed, and peers under the pillows to be thorough, but there’s nothing amiss.</p><p>“Take off your clothes,” he says, snapping his fingers at Carmichael before flinging open the curtains and fiddling with the thermostat. Hotels like this are always blasting the AC at the most inconvenient times. The unit beneath the window chugs and complains before going silent. To fill the quiet, the dull roar of a television laugh track bleeds through the wall from the next room over.</p><p>“This is what I always liked about you, Five. Straight to business.”</p><p>“You know the Personal Benefits contractors don’t make conversation unless it’s requested.”</p><p>Carmichael folds his jacket neatly over the back of the chair set at the writing desk. “Would you rather renegotiate and wait for a trained professional?” he asks, turning in his bowl to eyeball Five. He drifts lazily in the water as he undoes the cuffs of his shirt.</p><p>Five rips his tie loose and throws it to the foot of the bed. “I’m not letting you out of my sight until I have that briefcase in my hand.”</p><p>“I can bring in someone with more experience to satisfy your physical needs and simply take a seat here until you’re done. We can discuss—”</p><p>“No thanks, you’ll do,” Five says tartly. His lips press into a line as he tugs off his sweater. The cool of the room immediately penetrates the linen of his button-down.</p><p>He ought to be used to this body again by now, but while there are the obvious benefits—he doesn’t need to stretch before anything athletic, for one—to look down and see nothing of what time had written into his skin is still jarring.</p><p>He undoes the buttons of his shirt without haste, watching his own too-slim fingers do the work. When he’s done he finds himself staring at his palms, the familiar and unfamiliar lines that crisscross them. These hands had gotten torn to shreds digging through rubble, crushed the life out of rats and men alike, but the only marks and calluses they bear are the ones he’d earned a lifetime ago. The ones left behind by childish games and Academy missions.</p><p>Five flexes his fingers to remind himself that these smooth, boyish hands do indeed belong to him, and forces himself back into motion to shed his shirt. When he’s bent over and Carmichael is inside him, he won’t need to think about anything other than how it feels to have a body against his back.</p><p>A shiver runs through him when Carmichael seemingly reads his mind and crowds up against him, the cold kiss of glass at Five’s shoulder at odds with the warmth of wide palms slipping down his arms. Sense memory overtakes him, that mix of cold and heat reminding him achingly of his wife.</p><p>Whenever she’d gotten a little too much sun Dolores would complain endlessly, but she’d quiet down if he gathered her close and showered her in kisses. It never mattered to him how painful her skin had been searing against his, he’d calm her down with lips and hands, caressing the patches where she’d soaked up too many rays, cradling the soothing chill where she hadn’t. Carmichael won’t compare—no one ever will—but the contrast gets Five impossibly, achingly hard in seconds.</p><p>Biting back a moan, he shoves down his shorts, spits on his fingers and reaches down to slick himself up.</p><p>“There are amenities to be found in the bedside drawer,” Carmichael tells him.</p><p>Of course there are, but a bit of spit and determination had done well enough for most of his life. Five kicks off his shoes and steps out of the puddle of his shorts. “Work out some of these knots first,” he says, rolling his neck to the side as he fingers himself open.</p><p>This younger body doesn’t actually have any significant knots or sore muscles. No stiffness from years of shouldering a rifle, no aches built from carting Dolores and their possessions around, no nagging twinges from keeping a briefcase close at hand, but the tension still rides him in all those familiar places. Ghosts of his future past lingering under the surface.</p><p>“As you like, Number Five,” Carmichael says. Strong fingers dig into Five’s shoulders without hesitation, thumbs rubbing small circles near the wings of his shoulder blades and working towards his spine. After a moment, Five relaxes into the touch, the gentle bubbling beneath the glass of Carmichael’s bowl remarkably soothing near his ear. He wipes his fingers off on his thigh and focuses on the pleasure of the massage.</p><p>Five stretches like a cat whenever the dig of fingers feels particularly good, going up on his toes and arching back against the tall, solid body lined up behind him. He hasn’t had much opportunity to adjust to how limber he used to be in this particular context yet, he notes with no little pride. Averting the apocalypse was all-consuming, and he’d missed his wife too much to waste time showing off. </p><p>Speaking of showing off, from the thick heat nudging against his back, Carmichael hadn’t skimped on the downstairs equipment. A delightful arc of lightning skips along his nervous system, pleasure left sizzling in its wake.</p><p>“Thinking about choking me?” Five asks, poised to blink when Carmichael’s fingers nudge up against the column of his neck and a slight tremor passes through the fish’s hands. “Or snapping my neck?”</p><p>“I’m no murderer.”</p><p><em>Only by proxy,</em> Five thinks. Carmichael might oversee training and sign the dotted line, but the actual killing, that’s done by people like him. Annoyed, he shakes off Carmichael’s touch and crawls onto the bed. Dried blood flakes onto the quilted coverlet like rust red ash. <em>I’m done with this,</em> he thinks as he brushes away the scatter and spreads his knees. <em>Done with killing.</em></p><p>“Make it good,” he says, belly tightening as Carmichael opts to skip the bedside amenities and reach a hand out for him to spit into. He drops his forehead to the mattress as Carmichael works thick fingers into him. “I want you to plow me so hard I forget my own name.”</p><p>“Haven’t you already?” Carmichael says.</p><p>“You know what I mean,” Five mutters. He shifts impatiently against the heavy cock Carmichael slaps against his ass.</p><p>“I could remind you. It was in your file. Your old name in exchange for—“</p><p>“Shut up and fuck me,” Five snaps, before he has a chance to be tempted and trade something away for a relic that belongs in the past. He’s not that boy anymore, desperate like the rest of his siblings to be something he isn’t. A number suits him just fine.</p><p>“Very well,” Carmichael replies, and with a grunt and shove, he’s forcing his way into Five’s spit-slick hole.</p><p>Pitching forward, Five plasters his face against the bedding, teeth clenched and breath caught as he takes the first flaring inch and then more. It doesn’t hurt, but it’s a lot all at once. It always is when it’s not him or Dolores calling the shots. The mattress dips as Carmichael sets a knee to the bed, his hands finding Five’s hips and pulling him back, making him take that fat cock to the root.</p><p>“God, yes,” Five groans as he’s stretched taut and filled up. A grin splits his face as Carmichael saws his hips in a few experimental thrusts before going at it with the kind of no-holds-barred vigor that Five had been hoping for. His nerves sing, pulse doubling as he fucks back against Carmichael’s dick. The hard slap of hips against his ass rattles the headboard and his teeth and it’s fucking glorious. He can practically taste that dick in the back of his throat it’s in him so deep.</p><p>“Is this meeting your expectations?” Carmichael asks, his voice choppy.</p><p>Five twists to glance back over his shoulder. Carmichael’s water is sloshing, his fins and tail working overtime to keep him from slamming into the glass as hard as he’s slamming into Five.</p><p>“What did I say about talking?” Five scolds, the vitriol in his words lessened dramatically when they’re punched out of him in the rhythm Carmichael sets. He bites back a curse.</p><p>“I only want to be certain that I’m holding up my end of the bargain,” Carmichael insists.</p><p>Five’s eyes narrow in suspicion. It’s hard to read the truth on a non-human face, but just because he trusts Carmichael to hold to his word better than the Handler, it doesn’t mean he trusts everything that comes out of that vocalizer. </p><p>“You’re doing fine,” Five grits out, and wonders briefly about AJ Carmichael’s need for approval as a hand slaps to the middle of his back. A rough shove and he’s flattened to the bed again by Carmichael’s weight.</p><p>His cock surges and he widens his knees, trying to get a bit of friction on the needy throb between his legs, but whoever maintained his record must’ve been a stickler for detail. Carmichael’s hand on his hip holds him steady and keeps his ass tilted high, pounding him with an unnaturally steady rhythm. Five squirms a bit, frustrated and thrilled all at once, a low groan drawn out of him as Carmichael’s hand skids up to curl at the nape of his neck. The question Carmichael hadn’t truly answered swims up through the pleasure: <em>Thinking about choking me?</em></p><p>He shivers to think about those fingers at his throat, a dizzying rush and the hard beat of his pulse thick in his veins. Maybe he should’ve asked for a pro, he thinks, before long fingers hook over his shoulder and Carmichael steals his breath by jackhammering into him. </p><p>“Fu-uh-uh-uck,” Five groans, his hands clawing at the bed before going to fists. Carmichael’s balls against his taint hit with a nice steady slapping, soft where everything else is hard. </p><p>Each smack of Carmichael’s cock bottoming out echoes through Five, sending ripples along the surface of his skin, pure pleasure carried in the softness of flesh. Five stops caring about his dick entirely as that elusive tingling spreads from his core, and it’s only when the slide of Carmichael’s cock in him starts to turn gritty that he’s pulled back from the blissful depths of raw sensation.</p><p>He twists to wave an arm in the general direction of the bedside. “This is getting sticky. Do something about it,” he gasps out, muscles clenching. Thankfully, Carmichael slows and pulls out before the building heat turns to real friction.</p><p>“Shall we use this opportunity for a change in position?” Carmichael asks, skirting the bed. He flicks open the drawer and pulls out a bottle, popping the cap with his thumb and drizzling a generous amount of lube straight on his cock. “You do enjoy being in charge.”</p><p>“I don’t have to be on top of you to be calling the shots,” Five points out smugly. He sits up regardless, settling back on his heels as he gives his cock a slow tug. He considers the options, then plucks the bottle out of Carmichael’s hand to slick himself up again. “But you’re right,” he adds with a smirk, tossing the bottle away when he’s done with it, ”why waste the opportunity. Pop a few quarters in the machine, get on your back, and don’t move until I tell you.”</p><p>Carmichael produces the change and the Magic Fingers starts up as he settles himself on the bed. It's going to be endlessly satisfying staring right into Carmichael’s bulging eyes when he gets off, Five thinks as he swings a leg over and straddles the fish’s hips. The vibration rattles up through Five’s knees, and by the flurry of bubbles in Carmichael’s bowl, Five guesses it’s a little less pleasant for him.</p><p>Carmichael could use a little more discomfort in his life, Five thinks, and gives his cock a few more strokes before working himself onto Carmichael’s dick again. When it’s seated entirely in him again, rubbing and stretching all the right spots and aided by the wild shuddering of the bed, he bites his lip and starts to move.</p><p>A bounce and the water in Carmichael’s bowl pitches wildly. He flails a bit, his tail thrashing as his hands slap to Five’s thighs. “I presume that doesn’t count as moving,” Carmichael sputters, the Magic Fingers making his vocalizer cut in and out.</p><p>Five stretches his arms overhead and doesn’t answer. The vibrating hum of the bed reaches all the way to his fingertips, and he smiles to himself. No more Handler, a good hard fuck, a way to get his family home and safe... Streaking his load onto Carmichael’s chest is going to be a nice bit of icing on the cake, so to speak.</p><p>He gives his hips a little wriggle, enjoying one last stretch before dropping forward to brace his palms on either side of Carmichael’s head. His nose just barely brushes the bowl, leaving a faint smudge for Carmichael to deal with later. The fan of his breath fogs up the glass as he arches a brow and says, “Move now.”</p><p>His own reflection wavers in the glass and he half watches himself and half watches Carmichael. The expression on those lips might be a scowl, or perhaps it’s simply businesslike determination in the quiver of his gills as he gulps water. Whatever it is, when he plants his heels to the bed and uses the leverage to snap his hips up and slam into Five, it’s just as good and hard as before.</p><p>Breath hissing through his teeth, Five abandons a half-assed staring contest and the ghostly echo of his own face, letting his head fall forward. His cheek slides against the smoothness of Carmichael’s bowl. <em>Dolores,</em> he thinks again, his eyes fluttering shut as he aches for the firm chill of her skin against him. Despite the occasional squabble, they’d been so good together for all those years. If the apocalypse is truly averted, then perhaps when they’re all back in 2019, she’ll be with him again. If she hasn’t already moved on, that is.</p><p>He shoves the thought out of his mind. He can’t let himself think like that no matter what they promised each other as they watched the stars blink out one by one, night after night. Sometimes it felt like she understood the malleability of time far more than he ever could, and knew just how foolish the Commission is for trying to mould it. </p><p>He moans, “Harder,” lips smearing against Carmichael’s glass. From the corner of his eye he catches a flash of gold and shimmering white. “Fuck me harder.”</p><p>It takes Carmichael a moment to figure out what it is Five wants when his hips are already snapping up so hard the whole bed is bucking beneath the effort. Though he’s management, he’s not a complete idiot, and his hands wrap firmly around Five’s waist. He hovers fitfully in the middle of his madly swaying water as he guides Five down to meet each thrust, grinding them together at the peak again and again until the last quarter in the Magic Fingers runs out.</p><p>The bed abruptly stops its shaking, but the quivering lives on in Five’s limbs. He’s stretched to his limits, teeth humming, skin tight, the unrelenting slam of Carmichael drilling into him carrying him closer and closer to the prize.</p><p>“I’m close… so close,” Five says, voice heavy. He picks himself back up and shoves his hair away from his forehead, the sweat on his skin rehydrating the blood still splattered across his face. The smell of sex and death saturates the air around them and he locks eyes with Carmichael as he pitches his hips to take control of the rhythm.</p><p>“Do you need a hand?” Carmichael asks. His voice sounds tinny, and the flutter of his fins in the water are erratic, weakened to the point of exhaustion. He seems utterly relieved when Five doesn’t deign to answer and instead slows his pace, matching the rocking of his hips to the sway of water in Carmichael’s bowl. </p><p>Five skims a hand over his mouth and down his throat, a smear of red painting streaks down his chest before he takes his cock in hand. Thighs tightening and body clenching, he looms over Carmichael. Five grins as his fist finds that familiar, quick rhythm that brings the pressure into the red.</p><p>Carmichael flinches when the first shot of come arcs high enough to hit him right on the bowl, spinning in the water as he lifts a hand to try and wipe it away.</p><p><em>Ah, youth,</em> Five thinks dimly, and he leaves the rest of his load dripping messily all over Carmichael’s chest.</p><p>“I take it you don’t,” Five lets it hang and gestures lamely between them as he peels himself off of Carmichael and flops onto the bed with a satisfied smile.</p><p>“A little quid pro quo?” Carmichael ventures. He’s already reaching for tissues and wiping furiously at his bowl. “No, thank you.”</p><p>“Suit yourself,” Five mumbles, propping his arms behind his head.</p><p>Carmichael stands, pausing long enough for his water to level out, then crosses to the neat pile of his belongings on the dresser. He pulls on his boxers and grabs his cigarette case, taking one out as he returns to the bedside and picks up the courtesy phone to let whoever is on the other end know that they can send up the cart.</p><p>“Is how I prefer my steak on file, too?”</p><p>“We keep very thorough records,” Carmichael replies as he taps the filter against the case. He lights up and takes a slow drag before silently offering the cigarette to Five.</p><p>Five stretches an arm across himself to take it and wriggles up to lean against the headboard. As vices go, he’d always preferred alcohol to smokes, but then again, after the end of the world tobacco eventually went stale, while whiskey just improved. He draws in a lungful, letting the smoke purr in his lungs as he enjoys the unique lassitude that comes with being well-fucked.</p><p>He hangs the cigarette on his lip and relaxes against the pillows as Carmichael finishes getting dressed. The knock at the door comes when Carmichael has just pulled on his shirt, and he leaves it unbuttoned to let in the team, one of whom wheels in the room service cart and the other toting the briefcase as agreed.</p><p>Still naked, still lounging, Five salutes them with what’s left of the cigarette. “Put the briefcase over here,” he says, flicking his gaze to the foot of the bed. “And keep your eyes to yourself, you pervert.”</p><p>But it’s not a salacious look the tech is giving him as he sets the case down, it’s pure disbelieving awe. Makes sense, Five supposes, taking a final drag before grinding out the butt in the plastic courtesy ashtray. On top of his brief but brilliant career with the Commission, he and his family also took out Hazel and Cha-Cha. If anything, wiping out the board and finishing it off by bagging Carmichael is ultimately going to do more for the suit’s reputation than his own.</p><p>With an audible exhale, Five slips out of bed and spins the briefcase around. The technician keeps a keen eye on him as he dials in the series of dates and times, but he’s not looking to pull one over on Carmichael. Five carefully plots in one trip to round everyone up and one to bring them all home again.</p><p>“Satisfied?” he asks, and starts uncovering all the plates on the cart. He dodges a plume of steam and scoops up a fingerful of sour cream from the fully loaded baked potato. “Two trips, nothing more,” he adds, sucking his finger clean. “I’m a man of my word.”</p><p>“As am I,” Carmichael says. He shrugs into his suit jacket and fixes his cuffs. “Pleasure doing business with you, Number Five.”</p><p>Five glances up sharply. “We’re not quite done,” he says, and the techs flanking Carmichael share a panicked look.</p><p>“Oh?” Carmichael says mildly. It might be a trick of the light but he seems to pale in his bowl.</p><p>“This was a full service deal,” Five explains, pulling out a chair from the table in the corner. The implication is clear, Carmichael’s not done until he is. “The board meeting was messy business.”</p><p>The techs whisper amongst themselves, wondering perhaps if Carmichael had just executed them all with Five’s help. Five doesn’t disabuse them of the notion, pinning them with a look as Carmichael grudgingly pours him a cup of coffee from the carafe. “You two idiots can vamoose,” Five says, shaking out a napkin and laying it across his naked lap as Carmichael serves him. “I don’t do orgies.”</p><p>Fear coupled with respect is a powerful motivator, and once the rumor mill gets the latest update, Carmichael’s going to return to Headquarters not only with his life, but with a whole new shine to his reputation. That’s something that could come in handy if another apocalypse rears its head.</p><p>Carmichael waves the Commission stoolies away as he takes the opposite seat. Five smirks and lifts his cup in a silent farewell.</p><p>A nice meal, a little soak in the tub to get rid of all this blood, and this day is turning out to be a lot better than he’d anticipated.</p><p>
  <em>Fin</em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Other places you can find me on the internet:</p><p>Instagram <a href="https://www.instagram.com/kimkuzuri/">@KimKuzuri</a> for art/wips/process videos.<br/>Twitter <a href="https://twitter.com/ponderosa121/">@ponderosa121</a> for yelling about things and art.<br/>Tumblr as <a href="https://ponderosa121.tumblr.com/">ponderosa121</a> and Discord as ponderosa#1249.</p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>